The Shepsisters

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially. These stories have been public for some time, but I am slowly uploading my back catalogue of stories currently.

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The Shepsisters

Daniel Yote - assassin D.C. Yote - flattened himself to the wall, muzzle tucked to the side and tail hair bristling. The lithe coyote bit back a snarl, all down to instinct, and triple-checked that his blade was still secured at his hip, a small but deadly dagger, painted with poison that was harmless against clean skin but deadly upon entry into the bloodstream. The beauty of the weapon was that a small nick could deliver the killing dose from his weapon of choice. Firearms had their appeal too when need called for them. White fangs flashed in the moonlight - how typical that there should be a full moon for an assassination - and he dashed away down the narrow alley with a fleetness of foot that would have astounded any watcher.

He had to remain undetected. Daniel had been directed on other missions during the course of his employment at headquarters - he knew it under no other name - where he had had to cause something to serve as a distraction for other assassins, but different missions called for individual measures. It was his understanding of this and his ability to adapt that made him one of the deadliest assassins at headquarters. To his knowledge, no other fur had succeeded on even infiltrating the walls of the Shepsisters home base, so the coyote was off to a promising start in his eyes. A tremor of excited fear shook Dan's bones as he considered that he would soon be confronting the notorious Shepsisters, assassin twins extraordinaire, muzzle to muzzle, tooth to tooth.

It was going to be a fight with only one outcome.

The coyote's eyes grazed the rolls of barbed wire above the outer wall; he would not escape that way, that was for sure. Ducking his head, he skilfully dodged security beams and flung himself bodily into a narrow alleyway between two buildings that looked to be for military purposes, bases for weaponry and training. He barely avoided a bulky wolf who raised his muzzle warily at the entrance to the alley, scenting something foreign on the night breeze. Calmly, Daniel kept as still as a statue, waiting for the wolf to move on before he breathed once more and checked over his more immediate surroundings.

The black, metal ladder leading skywards seemed too perfect a lure but, as the buildings had flat roofs (intended for small aircraft), the coyote scrambled up it like a squirrel; he would be able to observe his surroundings with greater efficiency from the height. The metal rungs were slippery beneath his paws from an earlier drizzle but he clung to them resolutely, heaving a soft sight of relief when his boots landed firmly and safely upon the concrete roof, little bits of grits digging into the grooves that allowed him grip.

A helicopter stood solemnly in the centre of a raised landing pad, dark and unoccupied, though he was careful to approach in the shadows. Shaking his head warily, the coyote crouched lower to the ground, his senses on high alert - there had been nothing in the brief about aerial activity; headquarters had claimed that the Shepsisters were planning to incorporate aerial vehicles but had not made purchases as yet. Clearly they had been misinformed. Warily, Daniel opened the door, which swung open with a faint creak, and scanned the area, seeing nothing slinking through the shadows but a brave mouse that twitched its whiskers and fled into a more concealed crevice. He poked his muzzle cautiously into the cockpit, gun clasped tightly in his paw, and blinked in surprise at the bright blue folder placed blatantly on the passenger seat. It was almost as if someone wanted it to be read. What was that about? Black text in block capitals adorned the shiny cover.

'The top secret secrets of the Shepsisters', he read, every hair on his body suddenly going stiff. Oh, shit...

Something round and cold pressed to the thickly furred back of his neck and he froze, resisting the urge to move away from the paw that wrenched the gun and exposed blade away from him a second later. Deprived of his immediate weapons, the coyote snarled a vicious curse under his breath and his out of sight assailant laughed coldly, the flick of her tail sending a rush of cool air against his legs.

"Don't move a muscle."

"Wasn't going to," he muttered. "Think I'm that dull? Thought you'd have your heavies out here, Danica," he continued lowly with a strange sensation, as if he was falling from a great height, swamping his finely tuned senses. "To do your dirty work for you, like always."

The brunette haired German shepherd, Danica of the Shepsisters, smiled, flashing her startlingly white teeth - would an assassin canine visit the dentist? - and waved her paw in a commanding gesture as if to direct others forward. The thick-furred wolves that were known for guarding their headquarters rushed forward from the shadows and surrounded the duo, raising the barrels of crude guns, levelling them at Yote.

"Get down to your knees," Danica ordered him coolly. "You're coming with us."

Fuck...

Very slowly, so that he would make no sudden, surprising movements, the coyote sank to his knees, staring at a patch of concrete between his knees, which pressed painfully against the unyielding surface. The guards approached and shoved him down with the butts of their guns, smirking and congratulating themselves on so 'subduing' the infiltrator. Distanced from himself, he was vaguely aware of weapons being stripped from his body, whether they were concealed or visible - they seemed to know where everything was, no matter how well he had hidden his tools of the trade. The last thing he saw before a black sack was shrugged over his head was the sadistic grin of Danica the Shepsister.

*

They bullied the coyote through a maze of corridors, a musty smell overpowering Dan's sensitive nose from the old sack, which smelled as if it had stifled the senses of another fur not so long ago. It was soaked with dried sweat and the scent of death, old blood. Squares of light shone through the burlap but there were no gaps large enough to see anything of his surroundings, although he suspected that he was being taken deeper into the complex, of course he was: they wouldn't want him to escape.

You've really gone and done it this time, he told himself bitterly, tripping over his own hind paws as he was shoved rudely in the small of his back, some kind of lionleum beneath his boots, judging from the sound. You ain't ever getting back to headquarters this time, not with these bitches around. But they won't get anything from you, screw them.

He scraped his shoulder against a rough doorframe and he was dimly aware of being thrust into a room that made him feel instantly claustrophobic - even more so with the sack over his head, hemming him in like a prey animal. Stumbling, he collapsed heavily over a square, hard surface; he wriggled vigorously before the guards hauled him upright and felt a flicker of satisfaction as his side connected with the straight, rigid back of a wooden chair. So that was how they were going to play it.

A wolf guard swore viciously and Danica cackled, allowing the wolf to manhandle Daniel roughly into the chair, treating him more like a body in a sack than a living fur. The dispassionate furs bound all four of his limbs separately to the wooden back bars and legs with lengths of coarse rope. The coyote bit back a grumble of pain as the rope cut into his fur and rubbed against the vulnerable skin beneath; he wouldn't like to stay bound for long, lest he lost all feeling from his paws. Ripping the sack from his head, Danica bared her teeth at him, a German shepherd very much like her in size, colour and stature standing at her shoulder, but with blonde hair - her sister, Dora, the other half of the Shepsisters. The coyote snarled bitterly.

"Couldn't think of anything more original?" He said sourly, nodding his muzzle at the stereotypical bindings and setting. "Would've thought you two would have had something...unique. Guess that's not your style," he added in an obvious jab against them being twins.

The blonde shepherd, Dora, giggled lightly and half-wagged her tail, earning her a disapproving glance from her sister.

"Don't you think we've heard it all before, coyote?" She smiled sweetly. "You are the one that is unoriginal here and in bondage, I might add."

"I don't know, I thought I was upping my game by this point."

Danica rolled her eyes and motioned the guards back; they had nothing to fear with their potential assassin so bound and stripped of all weapons. Scraping her brunette hair back into a tight bun, Danica licked her lips and angled a spotlight, traditional and chosen for the intimidation factor, so that it drowned Yote in a bright waterfall. Dora swayed her hips in a female version of what Yote supposed was swagger, the motion hypnotising.

"That was a cute attempt," Dora smirked, tapping the side of her muzzle with a forefinger. "A cute attempt to break in. Nobody has gotten quite as far as you, but nobody has entered without our express invitation... And you now have an invitation! Aren't you lucky? Did you like our little 'joke', Daniel? You don't mind if I call you 'Dan', do you? Of course you don't."

"Cut to the chase, Dora," Danica snapped, the hint of a growl in her tone. "Don't play with...little Dan the spy."

She slapped his cheek hard, leaving a stinging impression of her petite, deadly paw.

"Shut up," she hissed between her teeth, grabbing his scruff and yanking his head back painfully so that he was forced to stare up into the bright light; spots of colour danced before his eyes and he blinked rapidly as his eyes watered painfully. "Who are you working for? I think we all know very well why you are here. Your mission has failed. Who sent you?"

"Sorry," he gasped. "That's on a strictly 'need to know' basis.""Well we need to know!" She growled viciously, drawing a dagger from a sheath on her belt. "I don't suppose you would like us to use greater...persuasion."

"Go to hell, bitch," the coyote sighed, closing his eyes. "Do what you will. Not like I'm getting out of here anyway. So what's in it for me? Death at either door, that's what."

Danica narrowed her eyes coldly and pressed the cold, lethal tip of the knife under the coyote's jaw.

"I suggest you give us what we want," she said dangerously. "Or we will make death a very unpleasant experience for you."

He was resolutely silent, staring into the empty space above their heads. The wolves bristled near the door, touching claw tips to guns in a deathly 'clink', and Dan lowered his muzzle so that the blade drew a trickle of blood. The German shepherd widened her eyes fractionally as if she had been expecting him to spill all his secrets upon being shown the dagger: perhaps he was different to the others...

"Fine, you chose to play it this way," Danica said indifferently, motioning Dora forward. "Take it away, sister."

"Oh, I am going to enjoy this..." She smiled, appearing more like a playful femfur in her younger years (both sisters were in their late twenties according to intelligence reports) than a ruthless assassin.

Dora stalked forward, tossing her loose, blonde hair like a teenager, all for the effect that it would have on their captive - she was no flirtatious schoolgirl. The flip sent a wave of softly scented perfume in Daniel's direction and it was all he could do, despite the situation, to not inhale deeply of the scent of white roses. The shepherd's eyes were bright and playful as she drew a pistol from a hidden holster beneath her black jacket, which boasted as many pockets as cargo pants, casually passing it back and forth between her paws. Daniel's eyes followed its every move, the coyote breathing shallowly and succumbing to panic.

"Why come after us, little Dan?" She asked mockingly, pinching the sensitive tip of his nose shut. Though he fought to breathe, he refused to grace her with an undignified yelp. "Why us? There are plenty of other assassins and bodyguards in the world. We are, at least, under the protection of our country. You are under no such protection, so who is really in the right here? You are the outlaw."

He squirmed uncomfortably. Her words rang true with him, but he had always liked to believe that he was doing good by eliminating these dangerous furs; after all, they often went after political furs that were in the public eye, simply because the government deemed them a threat. Just because the government authorised them to kill, while he was unauthorised, did not make them in the right. He had to hold on to that thought.

"Did I hit a nerve?" Dora smiled widely. "Did the little coyote not like me pointing that out? We could infiltrate your headquarters in seconds, pup. Child's play. You don't know who you're dealing with."

"Shut up," he growled, flattening his ears against his skull, though his words were empty defiance. "You're the ones who don't know anything."

"Don't we? I think we may have to step this up a notch, dear sister," Dora said as if she was giving Daniel a great treat. She gestured to a patch of wall that he had first assumed bare but, upon closer inspection, boasted several iron rings spaced along it at intervals along the height and breadth for ominous use. "Guards! Get him up against the wall, back to us."

Getting tossed around a bit here... Daniel twitched as his bonds were so swiftly untied and he wondered if the sisters had had different plans for him if he had chosen to co-operate in the chair bondage. Perhaps they did not care how much his restraint was chopped and changed as long as they had the wolves to do it for them? He shuddered and glared at a nameless, black wolf with a scar under his eye, though the lupine did nothing to help and dragged his arm higher up the wall to bind it. In the end, he was bound spread eagled against the wall, blood draining from his raised arms and leaving an unpleasant, tingling sensation in its wake.

"Cut off his jacket and shirt," she ordered coolly. "And one of you fetch my whip."

"What?!" He yelped, craning his neck to look back over his shoulder. "You're not going to fucking whip me!"

"My dear," Dora caressed his cheek with the flat of her paw. Her eyes were hard and unyielding. "You have no choice. Unless you give us what we want."

"Fuck off!"

"As you wish."

Daniel threw his weight against the fresh ropes holding his paws and ankles in place, unable to do anything but reinforce the tight knots. Dora smiled sadistically and tapped her boot upon the ground, the repeated thump-thump much slower than the frantic beating of his heart, which was more akin to a dancing troupe than her stately beat. There was no hope. He groaned and hung limply from his bindings, turning his cheek to the wall so that he could feel the cold, painted, white brick through his fur. The wolf returned to the room with a black, leather flogger in his paws. The strands were long and forbidding to Daniel's frightened eye.

Keeping to their instructions, the remaining wolves moved cautiously forward once Yote had stopped thrashing, sliding the blade of an extremely sharp knife along the seams of his jacket so that the back lolled open, the flap of fabric lazing to one side like a grotesque tongue. At a nod from Dora, the wolves tugged and pulled at his jacket, making strategic cuts, until the ragged scraps of fabric fell in a mound between his spread hind paws. Daniel held himself rigid as the blunt back of the knife touched his fur, but the wolf was professional as he carefully cut away the coyote's muddy green vest-shirt, finally leaving Daniel's torso naked and at Dora's ultimate mercy.

"Maybe now you will be more...talkative," Dora said smoothly, running the strands of the flogger between her paws as if she was caressing a lover. "This one has a certain bite."

Gritting his teeth, Yote believed he would be silent.

That was until the first lines of fire opened up across his back: he howled.

The shepherd raised and flicked the flogger with nerve-wracking precision, ensuring that the coyote did not know where she was going to strike next. Dimly, he was aware of Danica laughing and making a comment about low pain tolerance: was that directed at him? He had never had to find out before, not at this level of deliberate pain. He shook terribly and pressed forward against the wall in a vain attempt to escape the pain, an instinct as old as time itself bidding him to do so.

"Who sent you, coyote?" Dora goaded him. "Tell me and I'll stop."

"Like hell you will," he said through gritted teeth, learning to bear it.

She laughed and scored a stroke across the upper left portion of his back, letting the tails wrap skilfully around his shoulder and score a deeper, biting sting. It was only through sheer will alone that Yote managed to keep his muzzle shut and his secrets intact. A niggling suspicion in the back of his mind piped up that she was not even putting her full strength into the strokes, as he was indeed growing more accustomed to them by the second. The pain had faded into a numb, all-encompassing simmer - not even a burn.

He panted heavily and half-turned his muzzle to look for the next stroke when the stream of torture trailed off unexpectedly, Dora holding the flogger with the leather strands over the back of her paw. Though he had supposed that he had been severely whipped, he realised with a start that the only dampness on his body was that of sweat; there was not a single drop of blood staining his fur. Wrenching his neck back in disbelief, he looked down at his back and could not spot a single welt as the only evidence of his flogging was the slightly ruffled fur that had been stirred up from the leather.

"Oh yes, she's skilled, boy," Danica chuckled; she had taken a seat in the chair that Daniel had so recently vacated. "But we haven't had cause to so damage you just yet. Did you think that you were really being hurt, coyote? That first howl was delightful!"

It was just a mind trick, Daniel thought sourly. Not so much pain but all tactics and my fear of them making me think that I was being pummelled half to death. No wonder I'm still breathing and not dancing around in pain.

"Turn him around," Danica suggested. "I have something that will make him talk."

"Be my guest, sister."

In few moments, the weary coyote was turned around by the wolves and, under the direction of Danica, held with his arms behind his back by a pair of wolves with dark grey coats and wintery eyes. He stared defiantly at the pair of German shepherds, still unwilling to give in to their demands.

"Now, coyote," Danica near purred, lifting one booted hind paw up and planting it firmly over his crotch; she pressed her boot down enough to balance and to make Daniel flinch. "Are you going to talk or do we have to get very personal here? I'm sure we can."

Daniel's eyes widened and he tried to wriggle away but he was held fast by the guards. To his embarrassment, the pressure on his crotch stimulated a natural reaction and his cock became swollen, pushing aside the soft folds of his sheath. The shepherd's eyes grew calculating and she rubbed the toe of her boot back and forth experimentally, drawing a reluctant whimper from the blushing coyote's lips.